


Confess

by yeaka



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 15:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15688608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Otabek meets Yuri in Russia.





	Confess

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pallidvixen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pallidvixen/gifts).



> A/N: Fic for pallidvixen, who asked for “otabek and yuri, love confession”
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Yuri On ice or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Russia isn’t much different than Otabek remembers it—he doesn’t have a particularly hard time finding the restaurant or finding a place to park. The flashy shopping district is only a few blocks from his hotel. Though Yuri’s local, he should have a courtesy room booked too. Otabek doesn’t understand why they didn’t just meet there.

But if Yuri Plisetsky wants to ask Otabek to a restaurant, then Otabek wants to go to a restaurant. As Otabek comes up the street, he can tell it’s a nice one, too—the bright neon sign looks brand new, and the tinted windows are free of any tacky menus or posters. Through the translucent glass, Otabek can just barely make out the elaborate light fixtures and comfortable-looking booths in side. When Otabek comes in out of the cold, there’s a woman at a front desk to ask in rapid Russian, “Good evening. Do you have a reservation?”

Assuming they do, Otabek answers, “Plisetsky.” 

She must not be a fan of figure skating, because the name doesn’t seem to ring any bells—she bends over to check her computer screen. A second later, she straightens again and gestures him down the isle of tables. “Ah, right this way, Sir.”

Following her along, Otabek scans the other patrons as he walks. Most of them are dressed a few degrees above casually, which doesn’t say much for his jeans and black leather jacket, but he’s never been one to care what others think of him. All he’s looking for is a certain head of sunshine-yellow hair. The hostess takes him to a secluded booth in the back corner, then leaves, promising menus and water. Otabek doesn’t sit down right away.

He pauses, frozen, looking down at the other occupant of his table. It’s not like he hasn’t seen Yuri recently—they text and talk often, even do video chats, and of course Otabek follows all of Yuri’s hyperactive social media, even if he rarely posts anything himself. But seeing Yuri on a screen and seeing Yuri _in person_ are two very different things. His beauty’s more palpable this way, and it’s a complete, three-sixty view—every angle and detail. Yuri’s grown since Otabek last met with him. He’s taller now, a little broader, and his silken hair reaches his shoulders. He pulls off a leopard print jacket and loose tee too well. He gives Otabek an adorably sort of awkward smile that Otabek returns.

He finally takes his seat. There’s a wine list and a few other knickknacks on the table, but Otabek doesn’t spare them any attention: he’s still caught up in Yuri’s orbit. Yuri used to be cute and pretty, but somewhere along the line, creeping up into adulthood, he’s begun to grow distinctly _handsome._

He grunts, “Beka,” and leans across the table, folding his arms. 

Otabek returns, “Yuri.” Even though, once or twice, he’s slipped up and said _Yura_ on the phone. Yuri’s turquoise eyes pierce into Otabek, like Otabek’s supposed to say something, but Yuri was the one who said he wanted to talk.

Otabek could ask how Yuri’s doing, if he’s excited for tomorrow, how confident he is in his routine and if he thinks he’ll win. But instead, Otabek just sits there, waiting.

When it becomes apparent that Otabek won’t be any help, Yuri audibly exhales and mutters, “Listen, I want to get something off my chest before tomorrow. I don’t want this shit still distracting me while I’m trying to win the gold.”

Otabek nods once and just keeps waiting. Yuri chews his bottom lip, borderline glaring at Otabek, but Otabek knows by now that that’s just an attitude quirk rather than any real malice. Finally, Yuri blurts, “I’m into you.”

Otabek’s heart skips a beat. But all that happens on his face is the rise of one eyebrow. Yuri flushes a rosy pink and splutters, “I mean, it’s more than that, because if it was just that I’d push it back, because I have a career I’m working on and don’t have time to play around, but I think I’m like... _in love_ with you, and it won’t get out of my damn mind, so I think we have to, like... go out or something.”

He stops, gazing at Otabek with all the ferocity of a tiger. It’s like he’s daring Otabek to reject him. Otabek’s sure he looks as passive as ever, but inside, his stomach’s crawling. In a good way. A _very_ good way. He waits until he’s calmed that internal pleasure down before he answers simply and honestly, “I’ve been in love with you all along.”

Yuri’s blush intensifies. Otabek’s sure he’s been obvious. He never _said_ anything, never did anything untoward, but he’s always dropped everything the second Yuri calls. Yuri was his inspiration in the first place. He’s glad that it meant something.

Another few seconds of conspicuous silence, and Yuri leans back into his seat, letting out a relieved sigh and looking almost smug. He bluntly finishes, “Boyfriends?” Otabek nods. “Cool. But we’re not going to be gross about it like Victor and Katsudon.” Another nod. Otabek knows he wouldn’t be any good at public affection anyway. 

Despite just saying that, Yuri reaches over to nudge his fingertips against Otabek’s. Otabek glances down at the movement, but they don’t go any further—don’t hold hands. Not yet. Otabek has the quick, wild urge to ravish Yuri in the washroom, but they’ve got an early start tomorrow, and that’s way too fast. Yuri offers him a small smile that Otabek’s quite sure very few people in the world ever get to see.

A waitress appears at their table before anything else can happen. She doesn’t apologize for taking so long or offer any excuses, just slides menus onto the table. Yuri’s hand pulls away from Otabek’s.

He barks, “I’m paying, since I’m about to have the first prize money anyway.”

Otabek grins and nods.


End file.
